


Brother, where art thou

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 15:16:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15173501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Whenever he needs him, Ford disappears like smoke in his hands.Or at least, it always seems that way.He isn't expecting Ford to surprise him.





	Brother, where art thou

 

 

 

He loves him, he loves him, he loves him.

That fact - that Stan _loves_ Ford - has been the deciding factor of his life.

It isn't to say his love is reciprocated.

Stan still curses the day he ever looked funny at Ford's machine. Their first major separation. Stan is ashamed to say he almost didn't survive it. Not because of his time on the street - and God, he has scars that never heal - but it was the revelation that Ford didn't love him back.

And he'd probably always known that. It was then though, as he drove away in his only shelter, that he fully felt it.

Ford - Stan liked to picture him at home. Unhurt, untouched by the cold streets and neon lights. From cons and convicts. But he didn't _know_. And for some reason, that was the thing that bothered him most.

 

 

It's _nothing_ compared to when Ford falls through.

 

 

Nothing is quite right until he gets him back. The sky is an off shade of blue, food tastes like ash in his mouth, and the world is tinged with grime.

The closest Stan gets is the twins. Who bring color back into his life.

But still, even then - there's a piece of himself missing.

Stan falls asleep every night dreaming up places where Ford might be. And he has to be somewhere out there. The alternative is unthinkable - Stan doesn't even allow himself to consider it.

No, Ford is out there.

Not for the first time, Stan wishes they had twin's intuition but the truth is they're probably closer to strangers.

 

 

When Ford returns, finally, it's like a Christmas tree lighting up in his brain. Every nerve ending tingles, time slows down in that moment. The world rights itself.

Ford is handsome as ever. The ruggedness is new, as is something worn and wary in his disposition.

His distaste for Stan, well, that hasn't changed. It's the first thing Stan recognizes.

The gist of it is - after everything - Ford wants Stan out at the end of summer.

It's a shame that when pointedly not considering that he might not get Ford back he hadn't considered what might happen if he actually did get him back.

For some reason, and it's irrational - Stan knows that, he thought Ford might be happy to see him. That reconciliation might be a possibility.

And it's going to hurt - the not knowing now that he's been able to get his fill of Ford.

Ford's gonna be at the shack of course, for a while at least - beyond that, Stan will never have the good fortune of knowing.

 

 

They play nice for the kids.

And even the kids seem to like Ford better. He's dark, mysterious, and tells them interesting things. Sometimes, impossibly, he feels like a stranger.

Like when they're standing too close in the kitchen and a sudden bout of hypersensitivity strikes Stan. And he feels - self conscious.

He's in his comfy clothes. Ford - Stan notices - is never anything less than dapper. Stan must seem like a slob. When Ford's eyes trace the seam of Stan's boxers from the waist to the outside of his thigh Stan is sure that's what he must be thinking.

Ford's always been neater and Stan - well, he's always been a screw up. Messy - his life, his looks, his home that is no longer his home.

Ford must hate what his house has become. That's a particularly painful thought because it's a place Stan has grown to love.

Ford clears his throat then, reaches across - over and behind - Stan to get a glass. He could just go around. The deliberate action feels weighted.

Ford should feel familiar, they're brothers.

But he doesn't.

And that's probably why the resultant extreme discomfort suddenly makes Stan self conscious. He turns, to hide his body and Ford stares down at him, gaze piercing.

Maybe - it'd just be easier to pretend they were never brothers. Less painful.

Ford's gaze isn't derision exactly. It's something else, something Stan doesn't know the name of.

"Sixer." Stan says, to excuse himself.

Says the nickname every time he's off balance and needs to remind himself this is _Ford_ he's talking about.

 

 

Stan thrives on connection, on intimacy, on shared laughs and inside jokes. Ford's never needed nor wanted that with him. And yet - when they were children - never had Stan been more in tune with someone.

He'd maybe always secretly believed they'd get there one day.

It _hurts_ that Ford is throwing him out like a bad dog, like an unwanted pet.

But he tries to enjoy the rest of the time he has left with the kids.

 

 

It's hardly a sacrifice when he has to give himself up in order to save the kids - hell, the world.

_Good for something after all._

It's a relief, that in his last moments he can redeem himself. Ford hesitates, as if he's calculating if his sense of righteousness will allow him to let Stan do it.

He lets Stan do it. Which isn't surprising and honestly it's for the best.

"I wanted us to be like we were." Stan confesses, before the evil triangle gets back.

He sees Ford's face freeze and feels his heart fall.

"We were never going to be like we were." Ford eventually says.

"Yeah, I got that."

And maybe it is all Stan's fault. He's never been good enough. And it better work - because just this once he _has_ to be good enough.

Ford- handsome Ford - looks at him strangely. Almost longingly and wouldn't that be a kicker? Ford feeling _yearning_ for the way they were. He reaches forward, and Stan has to stop himself from flinching back, and smooths his hands delicately over Stan's shoulders.

Then Ford is pulling away.

Then Stan doesn't know where he is.

Always, he doesn't know, but he gets the impression Ford is leaving him.

 

 

At the end of summer, he gets himself back.

The kids get on the bus and he sighs heavily and can't really bring himself to look at Ford as he says,

"I just gotta pack."

Ford clears his throat, but he doesn't say anything. They get in the car and head to the shack. Stan is already listing all the things he can bear to leave behind.

For all that, the only thing he can't bear is Ford - who he will lose anyway.

He gathers his things and Ford follows him from room to room, as if he's afraid Stan will steal something maybe. It causes a pang of sadness in him but Stan doesn't protest. The sad truth is any bit of Ford's presence is welcome to his absence.

"Well, I guess this is it-" Stan begins, at the entrance to the door just before Ford cuts him off.

"I can't let you leave." He interrupts, something in it dangerous, desperate.

"What?" Stan says dumbly.

From there Ford stalks forward, clutches at his shoulders and drags him in.

His mouth is on his then.

It's like a strange, dark, mysterious, handsome stranger is kissing Stan. And that - not the fact that it's his _brother_ for pete's sake - is what causes Stan to arch back in alarm.

"Stan-"

"Sixer!" Stan invokes immediately.

"I'm sorry. For everything. Even the - machine." Ford watches him with dark eyes as he says it.

It's been so long since the machine was brought up. The common past thread tugs at something in Stan.

"I-"

"You don't have to explain. Whatever the case, what our Father did was wrong. Furthermore what I did -" Ford looks away, in that way he always has because he has trouble saying he's sorry, or that he's wrong, "You were a homeless child."

"No-" Stan immediately protests.

Ford doesn't refute him but he looks at him like he's disappointed in his intelligence.

That's familiar too and it causes Stan's hackles to raise in brotherly annoyance.

"This once, it's my turn to screw everything up." Ford states and Stan immediately opens his mouth to rebuff but in less than a second Ford is swallowing his words up.

"I thought about you a lot." Ford continues, pulling away, leaving Stan flushed and breathless, "All the time. Even before the portal."

And Stan had wondered - if Ford had ever spared a thought for him. The enormity of the statement hits him hard.

His eyes tear.

"I do love you despite...despite what my actions rather often imply." Ford says, a little cowed. Still handsome and rugged and odd and self assured but a little less of a stranger. "Stay."

"Okay." Stan says, because what else is he going to say?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
